


Unfinished Business

by DizzyDrea



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian knows why he does this job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [numb3rs100](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/) Prompt #343 – Coarse
> 
> I know that this is probably something that's been done before, but Ian wouldn't leave me alone this week. The first line of this fic came to me completed, and the rest just followed, tumbling out of my subconscious and lining up like little tin soldiers. And, as if my muse needed any more encouragement in the anal retentive department, I must point out that unfinished is a synonym of coarse, in the sense that something coarse is rough and without a finish.
> 
> Originally posted on LiveJournal.
> 
> Disclaimer: Numb3rs belongs to The Barry Schindel Company, Scott Free Productions, CBS Television Studios and a lot of other people who aren't me. I'm doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

The gravel is coarse underneath him, the rasp of stone on stone a familiar chorus in his ears. He settles the rifle securely against his shoulder, slams the magazine home and cycles the bolt, chambering a round. Gun loaded, he searches for his target through the scope. 

It's a familiar routine, comforting in its simplicity. But there's nothing simple or easy about taking a life, he knows this only too well. He chose this life, chose to bear this burden so that others wouldn't have to. 

His target swims into view, and he settles the rifle more securely against his shoulder, his finger gently caressing the trigger, just waiting for that barest of instinctive signals to take the shot. 

Through the scope he can see the target clearly. But it's not a man he's looking at now, it's a monster, and he's the slayer. 

The moment comes, and his rifle leaps in his hands, the bullet flying true. He can see the impact, and grim satisfaction pools in his gut. There will likely be celebrations later, congratulations given and received. But for right now, he mourns the life he's taken, because he wouldn't be human if he didn't. 

People always accuse him of being an uncaring bastard, but it's because he cares so much that he does what he does. He knows they don't understand that, and in a way he hopes they never do. It's his sacrifice after all, and he's prepared to make it time and time again if it saves even one more life. 

He rises, securing the rifle as he makes his way back to the team. One day he'll give this up, retire someplace sunny and warm. For now he knows there's business left to do, and he's the only one that can do it. 

~Finis


End file.
